She can tie the torch-tongue in a knot of red
She can ride the whirlwind in an oarless boat
She can give a waylight for the journeying dead
She can take the sun's warmth for her only coat

She can sing the cool rain to feed her corn
She can lead the battle cry of honourable war
She can help to sew the flesh that has been torn
She can watch the shadows' silence at her door.

She can sit upon an unworthy king's throne
She can destroy with one hand, and with one hand create
She can hold the sceptre and rule her land alone
She can be mistress of both love and hate

She can kiss a grain and bring forth new life
She can feel the currents of the ocean's worlds
She can weave a blanket, she can forge a knife
She can watch in wonder as a leaf unfurls

She can chart the stars in their moveless march
She can talk to trees in their unheard tongue
She can hold the sky within one fair foot's arch
She can climb great world-tree's highest rung